


refuge; strange and easy sugar.

by DT_Mars



Category: Teen Titans (Animated Series), Teen Titans (Comics), Teen Titans - All Media Types
Genre: 2016 fucked everyone up pretty good huh?, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-27
Updated: 2017-03-27
Packaged: 2018-10-11 14:02:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10466700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DT_Mars/pseuds/DT_Mars
Summary: Was it wrong for her to love both? Because she did. She still did.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Let's properly introduce this story by saying this: 
> 
> 2016 fucked everyone up pretty good, huh?
> 
> Please excuse any errors or typos you see in this. This was a very personal piece for me and an exercise to just work some shit out, and I was too much of a punk to share this with my beta (lol). It would have been up earlier, but surprise, 2017 is turning out to be almost as shitty as its deadbeat daddy. But enough of my pessimism. Read and enjoy, maybe even hate, either one hopefully enough to get you to tell me how you feel about this.

_refuge; strange and easy sugar._

* * *

Raven loved to be enveloped by her husband's arms late at night. He was such a strong man, a natural-born leader with a stubborn and headstrong spirit. Somehow, this man always managed to exude an air of power and dominance that touched anyone near him, even as he slept. This _excited_ her, because even while she was teetering and tottering on the brink of sleep, it reminded her of how he had used this very same innate authority of his to push her over the edge— _over and over and over again_ —just moments ago.

Sweat slowly began to pool in the space between the flesh of his forearm and her stomach as he held her, as if the memory of their intimacy were its cue. That little bit of moisture felt about as sticky and nasty as the stiff warmth of their humid bedroom, yet the corners of her mouth lifted—because it also felt _good_. Knowing that this sweat, along with the thick and almost unbreathable air that surrounded them was a direct result of their lovemaking, made her stomach spin around and flip upside down with unbridled glee. It felt like comfort and familiarity— _like home_ ; a solace she thought would have been lost to her forever.

Raven loved it, and she loved _him_ —all of him, with all of her.

It was funny to think of how much she used to hate him.

No. That was wrong.

 _Hate_ was neither the correct word, nor was it the proper term, for she had never hated him. She simply hated the _idea_ of him and of what he and his family represented to her, though the potential for hatred between them was strong and virile; if she hated him first, he would hate her right back—yet he loved her first. But she had every right to hate this man, whether he knew it or not and whether it was fair or not, because both ideas had been presented to her under such a negative light. This light was like the dim fire of a steadily melting candle, one that only spoke of stealing her away from her forbidden lover—

The arm around her waist pulled her closer to the figure that laid behind her, hugging her flush against the muscled and sturdy frame of her husband. A soft groan escaped his throat and slipped past his lips, a sound that made her eyes flutter as she basked in the feeling of him. He held her so snugly that she could feel every part of him pressing against her, from his chiseled torso to the currently flaccid meat of his penis, right down to the few veins that swelled over the smooth surface of his toned legs. Her husband was just so _delectably strong_ , a work of art who had been crafted and sculpted by years of training.

 _God_ , he felt like bliss.

Raven inhaled slowly and evenly, before releasing this breath through parted lips.

A warm breeze wafted into the bedroom, through the balcony. It created a pretty billow with the flimsy curtain that allowed her to catch a glimpse of the summer night sky. The sight helped to ease her nerves and to relax her, along with the faint sound of crickets. Her husband had not meant to do that: to excite her in such a way. He must have simply felt her tension as he slept, which would not have been the first time. To know that they had become so bonded that he could feel the rise and fall of her emotions, even as he slept...

It made her smile.

Upon further introspection, the thought of almost hating him was no longer funny but _strange_ instead; even though she knew exactly what warranted this potential hatred, and even though she knew exactly _why_. This was only because she loved this man—sincerely and genuinely—and because he loved her back and _first_ , a phenomenon in and of itself. It was abnormal, a rarity that she had quickly embraced when she sensed their mutual feelings. Many women in Raven's position could only hope to be as lucky, and she had been blessed enough to experience this love twice.

No; these were two completely different loves.

So was it possible for her to love them both? While her husband held her as he slept, and the other was gone?

Was it _wrong_ for her to love both? Because she did.

She still did.

"Garfield?"

His name slipped past her lips like a delicate whisper, weak and barely audible.

It hurt; she ached.

Raven's heart suddenly felt so heavy. It felt like an anchor had fallen through her esophagus and into the pit of her stomach with a sharp _clang!_ , pulling her spirits down along with her guts and forcing her to feel the burdensome weight of her emotions. Sleep was now lost to her; he had stolen it from her, disguised as a whisper and a fleeting memory.

The arms around her waist held her tighter; her husband's touch did not go unappreciated, it never did. This conjured up thoughts of possession, of the fact that she belonged to him just as much as he belonged to her. It reminded her that he was a big man, much bigger than her, with a body entirely made up of refined muscle, each honed tendon secreting strength and power— _a warrior_.

He stirred behind her, his legs untangling from hers to stretch underneath the thin sheet that covered them both. Another groan escaped him, a guttural one that allowed his warm breath to graze the back of her neck. He placed a sweet and lingering kiss there, before placing another onto her bare shoulder.

"Are you all right?" he asked.

 _It won't be long until I fall asleep again_ , his fatigued tone warned her.

His voice was thick with sleep, low and gravelly. The sound of it almost made her swoon, but she nodded instead. He was such a hard man, one who had been toughened by years of military training. Yet he was still so kind and so soft and so warm, with her and only her; for this, she hated to worry him.

Raven looked at the band that decorated her finger. It was the ring of his family, passed down from one ruling queen to the next; tradition, the same as it had been in her maiden family. But this was given to her by _him_ —her husband—and the hell that she would raise if she were not allowed to be buried with it would be monumental, at the very least.

"Don't fret, I'm fine," she assured him. It hit her then just how late it was. Her mouth was dry and her voice was rough, rougher than usual. She touched the hand that he had positioned over her stomach, grazing his warm skin with the very tips of her fingers before securely lacing them with his. "Go back to sleep, love."

"Will you speak with me when morning comes?"

"Will you remember when morning comes?"

"I doubt it," her husband admitted with a low and rumbling chuckle. The sound of it made her hold his hand just a bit tighter and burrow herself deeper into the curve of his body. He nuzzled the crook of her neck and sighed. "Let me take care of you. I _want_ to take care of you, Raven. This is my duty, not only as your husband, but as your friend. I just hope that you haven't forgotten that I do count as both."

His words made her stomach turn with affection. She brought his hand up to her lips and placed three kisses onto a single knuckle; he loved when she did that, and she knew it well. "I haven't forgotten. Thank you."

A gruff sound of acknowledgement was the only response she received. His arms relaxed around her, along with his breathing as he was gently eased back into slumber.

Raven waited a beat. She allowed herself to enjoy the distinct feeling of his body and the protection it offered, before unlacing their fingers and carefully slipping out of his hold and their bed. An instant chill hit her despite how warm and muggy the room was, because she already missed his touch. She reached down to pick her slip up from the floor, pulling it over her naked body before looking to her husband.

A tiny smile touched her lips at the sight of his sleeping face. He was such a handsome man, almost strikingly beautiful with the way he had grown his hair so long. There was a bit of stubble growing along the lining of his jaw and above his lip, reminding her of how it prickled against the sensitive flesh of her inner thighs not too long ago. He would be forced to shave soon, although she did hope that it would not be too soon; she liked to see him with the extra hair.

The longer she looked at him, the more tempted she was to crawl back into the bed. She wanted to wake him up, just to tell him to take her back into his arms and hold her close. He would fulfill this request for her, he always did.

"Richard," she spoke quietly.

His full brows shifted at the sound of her voice, but he neither stirred nor awakened.

Raven slid her feet into her slippers and made her way to the door, at that. There was just a short moment of hesitation that was alleviated when she turned her head to look at him. She watched him for a little bit, contemplating crawling back into his arms and waking him up, just to talk and free her mind from these bothersome thoughts. He was so good to her that he would indulge this silly longing and stay up with her until the sun rose in order to discover the true root of these thoughts, something that she was so sure of because he had done this for her many times before; and she, him.

A smile touched her lips and she shook her head. She was beginning to sound spoiled; perhaps he was _too_ good to her. With that final thought, she grabbed her robe from its hook, pulling it on and tying the sash around her waist. She opened the door and stepped out, closing it behind herself quietly.

"Would you like me to accompany you, my queen?"

Raven glanced at Alfred's solemn face before setting her gaze onto the door. It had taken more than just a few nights for her to become accustomed to the close and watchful eye of her husband's closest consort. "I would prefer to be alone, thank you. And don't worry. I won't let you get in trouble with Richard."

The old man scoffed. It was quiet, yet dignified. "I changed your husband's diapers."

The corners of her mouth curved up and into a small smile. Her fingers fidgeted at her side before she lifted a hand to touch the door, grazing the smooth texture with a featherlight touch. "He won't appreciate you telling me that."

Alfred chuckled, the sound warm and gentle. It made her think of a pleasant winter evening spent in front of a blazing fireplace, while a wild blizzard raged and howled outside. _Peace_. "That information will remain our little secret, then. Where shall I tell him you've journeyed to, should he awaken and question me?"

Her fingers at the door stopped moving. They lingered there just a moment longer before she pulled them away to rest at her side. She looked to Alfred and was met with a kind smile, one that reached his eyes. It comforted her. "He'll know where to find me. He always does."

"Very well," he assented with a nod. He bowed at the waist. "Enjoy your stroll, my queen."

The bald spot at the top of his head was spreading. It made her smile grow. "Thank you, Alfred."

Raven made her way to the grand garden after that. She took the long way, because she was still so unsure of what she wanted or if she even wanted whatever it was, despite how quickly she seemed to arrive to her destination. When she stepped through the entrance and caught her first whiff of freshly trimmed grass, her chest and lungs felt like they had been cracked open.

 _She could breathe_.

The garden always did this to her—allowed her to breathe and to think clearly—especially with that endlessly open view of the night sky. It had quickly become her favorite dwelling place within the palace upon her arrival three years ago.

Raven raised her chin and looked to the sky, searching for answers. She was not exactly sure of what she was asking, but she was silently begging and pleading for deliverance. _Any_ answer would do, really. But the only response she received was the continual sparkling of the stars that stared right back at her, their twinkling reminiscent of sly winks.

A twinge of confusion and disappointment poked at her stomach, prompting her to kick her slippers off and sit on the grass. Richard would have immediately pulled her onto his lap had he been there, playfully chastising her for giving the cleaners more laundry to do. The thought of that made her smile— No, the thought of _her husband_ made her smile.

She picked at a patch of grass beside her, curling the thin blades around her fingers. The color reminded her of him, and it hurt.

 _Ached_.

Raven was not too sure if she liked this sensation or not.

* * *

— _Three Years Ago_ —

Princess Raven was not surprised to learn that a bodyguard was being assigned to watch over her. The idea of a bodyguard was one which had been discussed throughout the years as she grew older, only to be deemed unnecessary by her father. This was only because she was always by his side. Her father even allowed her to join the conversations during casual and important meetings, urging her to speak; training her for the probable day that she would take the throne, if he were to ever pass before his time.

While Raven was not surprised by this assignment, she certainly was confused by the timing of it. The elders were more than just a little delayed with this delegation, especially when her twentieth birthday was drawing near in just two seasons. She would have dismissed and refused the entire notion if she had the choice, because there was simply no need for it: her father had always been her protector. Yet even as a princess there were still many others who stood before her, who were more esteemed and possessed more power, who had a say in this very decision—including her father. Because of this, she could not do or change anything, for the decision had already been made and was currently being put into action.

Raven and her bodyguard were formally introduced to one another on the first of winter. The weather that day was strangely warm for an early December morning, an observation that only served to feed into her discomfort regarding this meeting. She learned that his name was Garfield, a young soldier recruited from the cavalry division of her father's army. It did not take very long then for her to recall the fact that she had seen this face many times before, but this slight familiarity did nothing to expel the apprehension from her nerves.

However, his smile certainly did.

Just a bit.

It was a good smile, a nice and friendly one that made his spirit feel younger than he looked. This was a smile that exuded a comfortable warmth that permeated the frigidity of the elders who stood with them.

"I look forward to working with you, Princess," Garfield declared once the ceremony, along with all of the formalities were complete. His voice was smooth, almost as sweet as his smile; like freshly melted caramel.

 _This must be the source of the warmth_ , Raven contemplated while admiring that curving of his lips. She could not help thinking of how much that smile of his reminded her of sweets, and of cookies and bonbons. It made her think that perhaps, having a bodyguard would not be so bad.

"Likewise."

A bodyguard was a strange thing for Raven to become accustomed to, but it was also very easy—mostly because Garfield was easy. He was a simple man, and the air that surrounded him was very mellow and almost soft; the perfect accompaniment to this simplicity. As such, there was not much of a change in her day-to-day routine. She still got out of bed an hour early just to steal an extra biscuit from the kitchen after breakfast was served; she still visited the pond behind the palace to share her biscuit with the ducks, because they always seemed to enjoy it so much more than she did; and she still spent her free time frequenting the library, searching for something new to read or simply to relax.

The only true change was her acquiring of a new shadow.

"You're a lot quieter than people say you are."

Garfield's voice penetrated the library's silence like a newly sharpened knife slicing into a fresh loaf of bread— _smooth_. The sound of it made Raven look away from the bookshelf she had been sifting through, only to find him reclining against that same, exact bookshelf. He had his arms crossed in front of his chest as he leaned back on his heels, and it took everything in her power to ignore just how relaxed he looked.

Raven silently decided that indulging him would be much more appropriate than ordering him to step away from her bookshelf. Also, she could not deny that his question was almost as intriguing as it was sudden. She arched a brow. "How quiet do people say I am?"

"Not as quiet as you actually are," he confessed with a sheepish smile. He shrugged a shoulder. "Has anyone ever told you that you need to talk more?"

She almost snorted at the irony, her curiosity dissipating. "We're in a library. Has anyone ever told you that you need to talk less?"

"Yes, actually."

She watched him closely in an attempt to gauge just how serious he was. There was a smile on his face, kind and soft. This did absolutely nothing to help her figure anything out, because there was _always_ a smile on his face; she was almost jealous.

"Yes, actually," she mimicked him, answering his previous question after a moment of hesitation. His smile stretched ever so slightly, a minuscule change that she would not have even noticed if she had not been watching him so closely. Her eyes narrowed with suspicion. "Is this proper protocol?"

"No," he answered easily. "But none of the elders or your father are here to make sure that I'm doing my job."

Garfield's brazen confession almost coaxed a laugh out of her, one that she barely managed to swallow down. That spark of mischief in his eyes made it clear that he noticed; it twinkled all too brightly. She pursed her lips to keep herself quiet and sent him a warning glare, to which he simply nodded.

"What am I supposed to say?" Raven asked him, looking away to resume her book search. She took one step to the right, and he followed. "Since I'm so quiet?"

"Oh, that's easy. 'Hello, my name is Raven, and I steal biscuits from the kitchen every morning, but everyone pretends not to notice because I'm the princess'—"

" _Garfield_!"

Raven spun on her heels to face him. The book that she had been pulling out tipped over the edge of the shelf, falling onto the carpeted floor with a dull _thud_. Her voice echoed and rung in her ears, as if the sound waves were steadily bouncing off of each chandelier that hung from the ceiling. She could feel her face growing red with embarrassment, burning from the heat of her emotions.

"I apologize for raising my voice at you," she spoke quietly. She raised a hand to scratch at her scalp, combing her fingers through her hair with a quiet sigh. "I didn't mean to shout."

"There's no need to apologize, Princess. I didn't intend on embarrassing you. _I_ apologize. I was only trying to make you laugh."

She visibly balked, but Garfield paid no mind to that. He crouched and grabbed for the fallen book with a low groan instead, before lifting his chin to meet her eyes with a gentle and mellow curving of his lips. It was accompanied by just a hint of a faint dimple indentation that dug into his right cheek.

"I'm your bodyguard, which means that we'll be around each other a lot more," he told her. "We already are, and it's only been one month. We might as well take the time to learn about each other. If you wouldn't mind, that is."

Raven almost declined this strange request of his. He wanted to be _friends_? This was not verbalized, but he certainly hinted at it pretty strongly. This was not normal, not for _them_ , for people of such differing hierarchies. Forget proper protocol—her father and the elders would never approve; undoubtedly. Yet the sincerity imbedded within his kind eyes almost compelled her to give into his, now admittedly, _simple_ request. His unabashed transparency was something that nobody could deny. He was wide open and bore his emotions proudly, for everyone to see. It was an endearing quality that she was sure soldiers were supposed to be completely devoid of, no matter what division they hailed from.

Raven reached down to take the book from his offering hands, her eyes following him as he stood. That constant glimmer in his forest-green eyes made her think of freshly trimmed grass on an early summer morning, as the sound of shrilling cicadas welcomed the new day. It reminded her that they were currently in the middle of winter—and she would not mind this warmth of his.

"I deserve more than one biscuit."

"You're a _princess_. Why aren't you allowed to have more than one biscuit?"

"Because I'm a _princess_ , and I have to watch my weight."

"Your weight looks pretty good to me— Not that I've been watching or anything— _Oh_ , your father is going to have my ass mounted above the entrance to his throne room if he hears of this—"

Raven snorted, pursing her lips tight to keep herself from laughing aloud. She ignored the rosy tiny that was steadily spreading across his cheeks, along with how charming it was, looking away to resume her book search. "I started stealing them once I'd grown tall enough to reach the counter. I'm sure that at least one of the cooks have caught on."

He laughed. It sounded like fresh honey, almost. "And _I'm_ positive that it's more than just one cook. You're a terrible thief, Princess."

"We can't be friends"— _how strange_ —"if you insist on insulting me."

"I wasn't insulting you. You're an embarrassingly terrible thief, and you would have been caught long ago had you not been a princess."

She cast a glare his way. It was soft, playful even. This was surprisingly easy, being... _friends_ and all. "That's strike two."

"What was strike one?"

"When you admitted to watching my weight."

Garfield's nostrils flared with embarrassment, but he did chuckle good-naturedly. "I never admitted to that. What's your favorite color?"

Raven blinked with confusion, the space between her brows wrinkling as they knitted. "Blue. Why?"

He glanced at the small stack of books in her hands, raising a finger to scratch at his temple before pushing himself off of the bookshelf to begin his own search. He looked through the books carelessly, pushing them aside with his fingertips as soft murmurs escaped him. After a moment, he pulled a little book out and offered it to her without a word.

She looked between him and the book, puzzled. "You've read this before?"

"I'm not much of a reader," he confessed, grinning. "But this book can't be too bad if the cover is your favorite color."

A short and quiet chuckle slipped past her lips at the sound of such reasoning, but she took the book from him regardless. As she turned it over in her hand, its faded navy blue color became clearer and clearer. The tiny book was very damaged and old, with a flimsy cover. The pages were weak and tattered and ready to fall out, as an ugly beige color seeped through them.

"How strange."

"I'll be damned. Is... Is that a _smile_?"

It took Raven a moment to realize he was speaking about her. She chewed on her bottom lip in an attempt to keep a laugh from escaping, but she knew that there would be no point in hiding her amusement, because it was plain as day. She could feel this smile in her cheeks, and it was not easy to erase this kind of smile. So she allowed the corners of her mouth to continue curving up.

She placed this book at the top of her stack and met his eyes. This time, the smile on his face made her think of kindness and hospitality. She could practically taste the pounds of sugar materializing in the back of her mouth. "I told you about the biscuits. It's your turn."

"I've got nothing to hide," he declared, with confidence made her think fondly of her father. "One could even say that I'm an... _open book_."

She winced. "Was that supposed to be a joke?"

He ignored that. "What would you like to know?"

_two._

The anniversary of Raven's birth was introduced by a severe storm; harsh and cold. It was welcomed by a celebration at the same time, a grand gesture of potent love that radiated warmth despite the freezing weather. The party was hosted by her father in the grand banquet hall of the palace and organized by the elders, as it was done yearly. Many people were in attendance, including dear friends, loving family, and members of various noble affiliations who brought their own family members along.

But Raven was not there.

The princess had a habit of sneaking away during parties, banquets, and dinners once she discovered the principal exits and secret passageways of whatever building she occupied. It did not matter how boring or excitable these gatherings were. If she felt that her presence was not necessary, she simply left.

 _A horrible habit for the crown princess to latch onto_ , her father always made sure to tell her.

She never paid much mind for that.

The west wing of the palace was dimly lit this evening, the melting candles that hung from the walls and sat in their candelabras abandoned for the time being. The silence there was pleasant as the princess and her bodyguard strolled, a stark contrast to the noisiness of the party they had escaped about fifteen minutes ago. Although every so often, a joyous and muffled _hurrah!_ would seep through the aged walls and touch their ears.

"I've never given much thought to beheadings," Garfield mused aloud. "But never in my wildest dreams did I ever imagine I would get my head chopped off because the princess decided to sneak away from her own birthday party."

An incredulous chuckle forced itself out of Raven's mouth. Her fingers fidgeted at her side, itching to comb through her hair and scratch at her scalp, but she remembered just how hard the lady-in-waiting had worked to make sure that her hair was absolutely perfect. So she simply fisted the tulle of her dress, twirling it around her fingers to keep them busy.

"Don't speak like that. You never know which god is listening," she warned him. She uncurled a hand to point her finger at him, playfully waggling it in front of his nose. "They might take you seriously."

He snorted, shrugging her comment off with a brisk smile. "The gods are another thing I've never given much thought to. They've never listened to me before, so why would they start now?"

"Sacrifices of the flesh please many of them, you know."

"Of course _this_ would be the one time those fickle gods would heed my jokes," he murmured. This pulled a laugh out of her, one that echoed in the silence of the hallway they entered. "All I'm saying is, _you_ are not the one who would get in trouble if sneaking the guest of honor away from her own birthday party was against the rules."

"Nobody sneaked me away. _I_ sneaked _you_ away," she clarified. "Don't worry, my father won't mind at all. He never does. I prefer to be away from large crowds and he's aware of this, so your head is perfectly safe from him. But I can't make any promises about the god whose interest you may have piqued."

The murmur of assent Garfield gave was definitively uncertain as he rolled his eyes, right before he stopped in front of a portrait. This brought their stroll to an abrupt halt. Wonder touched his brows, arching them and lifting the corners of his mouth while his jaw fell slack. His eyes were lined with suspicion when he glanced at her, a wordless inquiry before he lifted his gaze to watch the portrait once again.

"This is your mother."

A smile slid onto Raven's face as she nodded. She looked to the portrait fondly, joining him in his overt admiration. "This is my mother."

"She's beautiful," he breathed before hissing sharply. "Or was. No, I'm sorry, I'm not very good with this sort of thing."

Another laugh escaped her.

Garfield's inability to refrain from befriending anyone he worked with quickly turned an undesirable situation into a pleasantly—and surprisingly—positive one. His transparency consisted of an almost casual ease, whether it was the way he spoke of his barren family tree and how he lost this family, or his love for animals, a love that pushed him to swear from eating meat at the age of fourteen. This foreign concept was one that Raven respected and quickly accepted, because his simplicity was like an instant breath of fresh air that she appreciated.

His spirit was mellow and easygoing; almost cozy or soft—definitely warm, and something that Raven was not accustomed to. She had been raised in an environment where there were secrets and darkness all about, in every deep and shallow recess of the grand palace and under the tongue of each person who walked the halls. The inviting air that Garfield offered was something that she allowed herself to become immersed in because of this; little by little and bit by bit.

It did not take very long before Raven was eased into speaking just as comfortably with him as he spoke with her. Soon enough, she began to tell him tiny things, little things that she said with dismissive shrugs because these were all simply insignificant details to her. Yet they seemed to be good enough and even perfect for him. So she began to tell him important things, things that a bodyguard who had been recruited from the cavalry division of her father's army probably had no right to know. She even slipped up and told him the story of her mother's untimely death right after giving birth, and of how much she hated to be a princess sometimes because there were many days when she wanted at least six or seven and a half of those damned biscuits, instead of just one and a half.

Garfield laughed when she told him this, doubling over as she chucked pieces of her biscuit at the ducks with an aggravation that was barely concealed and rarely ever shown.

"Careful," he warned her. "Some might say that you're spoiled."

As a direct result, roaming the palace together soon became a part of the day whenever Raven was not expected to travel or attend any meetings. The concept of wandering around in her own home felt so stupid and so childish, but for some reason, she felt the need to ensure that Garfield knew his way around. He would comment on the statues and paintings that hung on the walls, joking that they were all good scenery for good conversation. There were days when they would end up in an area that she was not too familiar with and get lost, which never bothered her because their conversations made the time fly by as they struggled to find their way back. But most days, they would simply find a flight of stairs that was hidden within an empty section of the palace and just sit there, resuming their conversation from the day before; fewer people interrupted them this way.

Raven was not too proud to admit that she looked forward to meeting him at her bedroom door each morning. She even found herself sneaking an extra biscuit for them both some mornings, which quickly shifted into every morning.

_It was so strange._

Indulging in such camaraderie was nice and almost fun. This was mostly because there were many times when she would forget that he was intended to be just her bodyguard, not her friend. Yet he was both.

Infinitely strange; but welcome, without a doubt.

"Why is she hidden all the way over here?" Garfield asked after a moment of contemplation, breaking the silence that shrouded them as they watched the portrait. "This must be one of the emptiest sections within the palace, even on a regular day. Doesn't your father want anyone to remember her?"

Raven looked to him. The portrait seemed to have drawn him in, the look of wonder on his face now laced with scrutiny. She imagined that there were many more questions swirling around inside of his head; there always were, and she never minded answering. "Of course. He speaks of her everyday."

"Fondly? Lovingly?"

"Yes. It's disgusting."

The muffled sound of the partygoers' excitement touched their ears as he chuckled.

"Seeing her face makes him uneasy," she continued before looking to the portrait, herself. "The elders have been urging him to remarry, but I'm sure that it won't happen anytime soon. His heart is still broken."

Garfield hummed. The sound was full of an empathetic sorrow that made her stomach turn with unease. "Understandable. Last month was the first time I'd looked at my own family portrait after losing them."

"Gar—"

"I'm sorry you didn't get to meet her. Your mother, I mean."

Raven's stomach turned again and she looked to him. There was a frown tugging at the corners of his mouth, his jaw set with an unreleased tension as he continued to watch the portrait. Such a downcast expression did not look normal on his face. The sight made her wish that her mother were alive and there with them; she was sure that the late queen would have liked Garfield.

She finally uncurled her other hand, releasing the fabric of her dress. She reached out to him and gently squeezed his arm. "I'm sorry, Garfield."

He hesitated, pursing his lips before dismissing her words with a simple shrug. He glanced at her and cleared his throat, raising a hand to scratch the back of his neck. "Careful. If one of your father's cronies happens to see you touching me like this, I'll definitely get beheaded. We don't want that, now, do we?"

It was clear that he was shutting this conversation down as quickly as he possibly could; he would divulge no more. So even while pity continued to tug at her heart, she allowed herself to chuckle and released his arm. "You give my father far too much credit. He isn't as mean or as horrible as people believe. He's actually quite soft."

"With _you_ , birthday girl," he specified, and they resumed their stroll. "Speaking of which: how old are you now?"

"Twenty."

A flight of stairs caught their attention. It was winding, a spiraling staircase that led to one of the many and abandoned entrances to the elders' place of worship. The pair sat on the very last step before she kicked her shoes off with a quiet sigh, stretching her feet and toes underneath her dress.

"Why didn't you let me know that your birthday was coming up?" Garfield asked. His eyes twinkled with mirth, without a single trace of melancholy in sight. "If I had known, I would have saved you the trouble and stolen a few extra biscuits in your place each morning. My gift to you. You did say that you wanted seven a day, right?"

Raven snorted. "While I appreciate the thought... I didn't mention it because I didn't think it was worth mentioning. Birthdays happen every year, and I don't need any gifts. I'm perfectly content—"

"What do you mean, _not worth mentioning_?" he interrupted her, his mouth falling open. "Your birthday is the only day in the whole year that you get to celebrate your arrival into this shitty world!"

Raven clapped a hand over her mouth, muffling the laughter that escaped the best she could before taking a calming breath. "We're near the elders' place of worship, Garfield. Watch your mouth."

Garfield paid no mind to this warning. Instead, he stood. There were murmurs slipping past his lips as he looked to and fro, craning his neck all about in his sudden search for something. She opened her mouth to ask him what he was looking for, and if she could possibly help him find it, but he snapped his fingers.

"Aha!" he exclaimed, right before walking up the staircase. "Stay right there. I'll be quick."

She immediately stood, her bare feet planted firmly onto the ground as she watched him turn a corner and disappear. Her fingers fisted the fabric of her dress once again, hesitating as she prepared to chase after him. "You can't be up there! _I_ can't be up there. The elders, they—"

"Come on, Raven," he called out. His voice, laced with mischief, sounded distant and a bit muffled. It made her wonder just how far he had wandered up there. "We both know that the great and holy elders would never miss out on their precious princess' twentieth birthday party, even if it was to pray."

Despite her apprehension, his words relaxed her a bit. "The fear of the gods is obviously something that's lost to you."

His laughter echoed in the silence of the empty hall, bouncing and reverberating off of the walls before he finally made his way back down the stairs. The smile on his face was absolutely impish, almost haughty as he approached her with his hands hidden behind his back. He stopped in front of her and simply stood, right before pulling a hand out, only to reveal the lone flower he had been hiding: a white rain lily.

A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth as she watched it. "You stole a flower from the elders' temple. The fear of the gods really is lost to you, isn't it?"

"I know that it isn't much—"

"No," she interrupted. She shook her head fervidly, her fingers fidgeting again in their desire to grab and hold onto that little flower. A birthday gift was not something that she needed from anyone, but she was not to proud to admit that she truly wanted his gift. "It's fine. It's per—"

"Shit, we're probably going to get cursed because of this flower—"

"We're right underneath the temple, Garfield, watch your mouth—"

"If you would have just told me that your birthday was coming up, I wouldn't have had to steal on such short—"

Raven finally met his eyes, her back straight and erect.

"It's perfect."

This was not a lie, and she was sure that he knew it. A decidedly pregnant pause settled itself between the two as they watched each other in silence. His eyes were almost invasive, a far cry from the early summer mornings they usually reminded her of. Those eyes were a fall evening tonight, in which the air had grown chilly right after the moon settled itself into the sky and the world had fallen asleep.

A chill ran down Raven's spine. It was then that she finally noticed just how warm she felt underneath his stare.

A slow smile slid onto Garfield's face. It was tiny and almost shy as he offered the flower to her. "Happy birthday, birdie."

The beating of her heart suddenly hastened, violently ramming against her chest. She felt even warmer— _hot_. Imagining just how red her face must have been was not a thought that she wished to concern herself with, so she took the flower from him, watching it closely while averting his gaze.

"Birdie," she began quietly. A sudden spell of nervousness hit her, forcing her to swallow hard before releasing a chuckle. "That's an interesting nickname."

" _Oh_ ," he blurted before laughing sheepishly. "I'm sorry, you weren't supposed to hear that. That's, uh, that's what I call you in my head, and I guess it slipped out, but it sounds a lot better in my head now that I think about it, so I'll just keep it there—"

Raven lifted her chin to look at him, pointedly meeting his eyes with a courage that she had never needed before, in order to just look at him.

"It sounds just as good out loud."

Garfield blinked, his mouth falling open to speak despite nothing coming out. He hesitated before taking a breath through his nostrils—slow and steady; she liked to see him this way. Clearing his throat, he swallowed before smiling. "I, uh, I should get you back to your party. We wouldn't want you to get in trouble, would we?"

"I'm not the one who would get in trouble."

"Which is exactly why we need to get you back."

Raven slipped her feet back into her shoes with a laugh before they began their walk. She watched him closely from the corner of her eye, and it suddenly became so difficult to look away. It was now _hard_ to keep her eyes off of him, as if she would miss something absolutely spectacular if she were to take the chance and avert her eyes. "I would much rather go to my bedroom. I'm tired."

He nodded and began to lead the way. It did not take very long for her to notice that he was leading them down the long way. This made her smile and grip the flower tighter, her toes curling inside of her shoes.

 _Perhaps I should get us lost on purpose_ , she thought to herself.

"Do you have any nicknames for anyone else in your head?" she asked before her mind could do anymore wandering.

He smiled— _warmth_. That curving of his lips made her think of butterflies sitting on dewy grass blades during the summer in an attempt to keep cool, but to no avail. "I've got several for your father."

"That doesn't surprise me."

"Don't you think that I'll be repeating them to _you_. Word is, you're his right-hand woman."

She had no right to feel insulted, because what he said was correct. But because this was _him_ speaking, that statement made her scoff and roll her eyes. "I won't tell. You haven't told anyone about me stealing biscuits for you each morning, have you?"

"Of course not," he answered, offended. There was just a short moment of hesitation before he combed his fingers through his hair with a sigh and brought their walk to a halt. He met her eyes, holding his pinky out. "Pinky promise?"

"How old are we?"

"Isn't today _your_ birthday?"

"Gar— _field_."

He simply grinned.

She linked their pinkies without a second thought. It was such a little thing to have their pinkies touching like this, but it made her think, for just one split second, that it would have felt so— _and so, and so, and so, and so_ —nice to touch more of him.

Probably. Most likely.

This thought caught her by surprise and made her blink twice as she continued to watch him, leaving her to wonder:

 _Since when_?

"I better not hear about you tweeting and chirping away—"

" _Gar_."

Garfield laughed and released her pinky; thankfully enough for her. "Relax, birdie—"

Raven's heartbeat stuttered this time.

"My division has this long running joke," his story began as their walk resumed. "It all started the day after..."

_three._

Raven was engaged.

The process of coming to terms with this sudden revelation was a slow one that almost grated her nerves; it was both distressing and disturbing, without a single doubt or second thought. Her unveiling of this discovery began with gossip, as all unsettling discoveries did. While it was normal for gossip to spread throughout the palace, it was doubly normal for the gossip to be about the resident princess. But... an engagement?

 _Her_ engagement.

Raven kept her knowledge of this news to herself for about a month, the exact amount of time it took for her to extract the necessary information from several attendants and guards. They begged her not to mention their names to her father, and she only promised not to do so if their information stood true.

The name of her prospective husband was _Richard_ , the young king of a neighboring land who had been suddenly promoted to his position after the untimely death of his father. She actually knew him quite well, and could say that they had even grown up together. One never missed the other's birthday parties, their many conversations were long and never failed to stimulate her mind, and there were plenty of letters sent by both parties throughout the years; Raven had even consoled him at his father's funeral and attended his coronation.

The young king was strong and compassionate and brilliant, and no one could deny that he was exceedingly handsome.

But he was not Garfield.

This thought made her stomach turn uncomfortably as she laid in bed late one night, several hours after Garfield had escorted her to her bedroom. Yet the thought of _him_ made her blush at the same time. This spurred her to finally confront her father in his office that same night, after everyone within the palace, except for the guards, had fallen asleep.

"Your engagement, and eventual marriage, to King Richard is a matter of securing peace and ensuring a strong alliance between our two nations."

The way that her father said this implied that she should have known all along, and that she should have been expecting this. Truthfully, she should have. What other reasoning could there have been behind making sure that the two royals genuinely liked each other from birth, and constantly making sure that this friendship lasted between them as they grew older? There _was_ no other reasoning. The arranging of this marriage was something that she would have taken notice of about three months ago, when her father's presence slowly faded away to make room for her new protector—but she had been distracted.

Garfield's exact purpose as her personal bodyguard finally became clear. The process of choosing a husband for the crown princess was sacred, one that required the direct involvement of the elders and the king. It would not have been proper for her to be near her father during this process, but making sure that she was kept safe and unharmed for her new husband was imperative and necessary—so, Raven hated this new husband of hers. It was wrong, but just the thought of his impeccably structured face made her blood boil with anger and distaste. She had never felt such strong and volatile emotions for her childhood friend, but the fact remained:

_Richard was not Garfield._

And Garfield, he had so easily become _everything_ —

"I can't get married."

Raven's confession slipped past her lips like a thin whisper; delicate. It stunned her father into a tense silence, as well as herself.

A chuckle poured out of Trigon's mouth, like molten lava. The sound of it was deep and raw, the vocal equivalent to a small tremor in the earth after a powerful hurricane. Her father watched her carefully from the grand chair he reclined in and set the scroll that he held onto his desk. It was an absolute mess on that table; scrolls and pens were strewn all about, along with a half empty bottle of ink that sat beside a flaming candle that lit the room, melting into its golden candelabra—chaos. Yet all Raven could think about was a joke that Garfield had told her a few days ago, and how loudly it would have made her laugh in light of this very present awkwardness.

All she could think about was _him_ , and what _he_ would think about this engagement.

"You cannot marry?" her father questioned. "Why not?"

Raven hesitated and her eyes began to dart around the office in its search for something to help her. Confessing to her father that she could not marry her childhood friend because she was unsure of her feelings for her bodyguard would be absurd and illogical. She could not bring herself to even think of the possible consequences if this were to happen, for both her and Garfield, but mostly for him. So she focused her attention onto the window behind her father's chair.

"Father," she began shakily. The intricate designs that decorated the window did absolutely nothing to relax her, but she refused to look away. Her hands curled at her sides. "The prospect of marriage, at the moment, would not be favorable."

"You have yet to explain why you cannot marry."

"I'm not ready."

"Ah." Her father released another chuckle. "No one is ever truly ready for marriage. However, whether or not _you_ are ready is unimportant, unfortunately. Your duty as the crown princess is to carry out any order that will ensure the greater good of our people. Have you forgotten, my gem?"

"Of course I haven't. But—"

"Very good."

"I just can't—"

"That is enough, Raven."

She finally met his eyes, desperately. "Father, I implore you to _please_ —!"

"Silence."

Trigon's jaw ticked with a definitive annoyance that he had not directed to her since she was young. It made her nostrils flare underneath the weight of his heavy stare, with an emotion that she had never felt toward him. _Was this fear_? Impossible. This man sitting before her was a king, ruthless and powerful when necessary—but he was also her father; always kind and loving to her, whether they were alone or surrounded by others. She had never feared her father, _never him_ , so she ignored this foreign feeling.

"Learn your place, child. You inherited that mouth from your mother, and it will surely escort you to trouble's doorstep one day," he warned. He watched her for a moment before his gaze wavered and grew soft. He sighed. "You are engaged and to be married by this time next year. This decision is final and absolute. Is this understood?"

Raven ignored the foul inkling that began to fester in the pit of her stomach. She looked to the window, her eyes tracing the delicate drawings.

"Yes, father."

It took Raven a full week. A full week of praying with the elders, a full week of journaling, and a full week of personal meditation before she finally made peace with the reality of her circumstances. It was during this week that she was forced to confront the shift within her relationship with Garfield, a shift that she had not noticed until she learned of her engagement— _and it was there_. Their dynamic, if one could even call it that, had changed. This was not a dramatic change, but a very faint and almost indiscernible one that managed to be absolutely discernible at the same time.

Raven felt it. And she liked him.

No. Or was it, _yes_?

Perhaps the word _like_ was too much, or maybe even too little. Raven was not too sure of the specifics just yet, but she was both painfully and acutely aware of certain things. She knew that she was not yet willing to admit that deep down she wanted more from him, and that she secretly wished that he could be more than just her bodyguard. She knew that her feelings for him were sweet like candy, or warm like freshly baked biscuits; both, like his smile. She knew that she should not have allowed herself to grow so comfortable with him, or allowed him to steal her away with his tender smile and tender words—because whether he knew it or not, he had her. Most of all, she knew that she hated herself for allowing an engagement, her own, to be the force which drove her to come to terms with these feelings.

Strangely enough, this did not change her interactions with Garfield. It simple made her want to be around him even more. Even if that meant stealing them both an extra two biscuits every morning instead of just one, because it took him longer to chew and swallow. Or getting them lost in the palace or during a journey outdoors on purpose, because this forced their conversations to run longer. Or simply teasing him into an absolutely enthralling and playful banter, because she loved to see the way his eyes lit up. It was utterly pathetic, yet with each sunrise, a new idea on how to trick him into allowing her to remain in his presence for just a second longer blossomed in her mind.

Raven had gotten them lost again, this time in the lower end of the palace. It smelled so rank and so disgusting that she would not have been surprised if the cleaners had forgotten that this section of the palace even existed. But as they sat on a flight of stairs, the smooth yet animated sound of Garfield's voice soothed her.

Yet she could not focus.

It was absolutely horrible, especially when she considered just how long it had taken her to convince him to explore this section of the palace with her. But she simply could not give him the attention he deserved; she could not listen properly and or even look at his handsome face. Instead, she had the hem of her dress hiked over her calf so that she could watch the thin chain daintily decorating her ankle.

It was a belated birthday gift, a gold necklace that he had given to her about a week after her birthday to make up for stealing that flower. The little piece of jewelry was so simple and so plain compared to the many necklaces she already owned, but he offered it to her with a grin so bright and a face so red that his entire being rivaled the moon's glow as it watched them through the library's window one evening.

"It's not too late to reverse that curse," he joked. "Is it?"

That alone had been enough for her to raise the hem of her dress and stick her foot for him to crouch and clasp that necklace right around her ankle. They both knew that she could not afford to wear it around her neck or even around her wrist. People would talk. She did not even want to consider what would happen to him if people spoke of this and of _him_ and of the possibility of them, and word reached the wrong people. All she could afford to think about now was how—

"I'm engaged."

Garfield fell quiet.

Raven could feel him watching her as she continued to watch her ankle. The sudden silence that engulfed them almost choked her, forcing her to pay attention to the almost deafening sound of her heartbeat. It was so loud that she almost shouted at it to _shut up!_ as she waited for him to say something. To say anything. To ask her why. To ask her who it was. To tell her that he wished it was him.

It should have been him.

"Congratulations."

The fabric of her dress fell from her fingers as they uncurled. She drew a slow breath and looked to him. "Wh—What? _Congratulations_? That's all you have to say?"

"You're engaged, birdie. What else am I supposed to say to that?"

There was a smile on his face. It was tiny, though absolutely present. His smiles normally comforted her and made her feel warm, but it did not work this time. This smile was broken and could not do its job, because she could feel her insides turning out and burning, destroying her with emotion.

She stood, because just sitting near this man was no longer something that she could take. "I don't know! Not _that_! I'm— I am _engaged_!"

 _To someone who is not you!_ , she bit back.

"And that sort of thing usually warrants some sort of celebration—"

" _You_ don't get to congratulate me—"

"There's nothing else I can say—"

"There absolutely is something else, and it isn't _that_! Anything but that, and you know it!"

The smile on his face fell as he grew silent again. His eyes were wide and his mouth was trembling, as if he was searching for the proper words to say. He stood slowly to meet her eyes, as if he needed to keep himself balanced to keep from rolling down the stairs. "Raven, I— We can't—"

"I want this," she interrupted him. "I don't care how spoiled I sound. I want this and I want you."

Garfield's nostrils flared with sudden anger—pure frustration. This was the first time that she had ever seen him look at her in such a way. It was childish, but she wanted to keep poking at him, to keep bothering him until he finally blew up. He set his jaw. "Don't you think that I want _this_ and _you_ , as well? I _know_ you do! You _have_ to! Because _you_ are the greatest thing that's ever happened to me, damn it, but we can't—!"

"Stop saying that word!"

"What, _can't_? You want me to stop telling you the truth?"

"I want you to stop fighting this! If I'm the greatest thing that's ever happened to you, and you want this and me, then stop fighting it! Just stop fighting it so that _I_ can stop, you idiot! You stole my heart, and I refuse to let this go! _You_ stole it right out my chest, Garfield, and _you're_ the one who's doing this to me—!"

Garfield took her face into his hands and kissed her.

Raven immediately folded into his form and moaned into his mouth, softly.

 _Sugar_.

This culmination of months of intense emotional repression tasted better than she could have ever imagined. He tasted fresh and clean, the way the air felt after a rainstorm. Yet he tasted absolutely sweet at the same time, like sugar mixed with fresh honey or fresh honey cooked into even fresher biscuits—the way his smile looked and made her feel. He kissed her with an intensity that made her knees buckle, as if he was afraid that she would get whisked away for marriage right then and there. So she grabbed for the front of his clothes to remind him that she was right there, and to keep herself grounded.

This kiss was soft and hard. Messy and neat. So perfectly them. It happened in public and in her home, the great palace, but she could not find it in herself to care—because it was _him_ , and _he_ was the greatest thing to ever happen to her.

Garfield pulled away from her lips with a sharp gasp, his hands jumping off of her skin as if she had burned him. They were raised beside his head, like he was preparing to be searched and arrested. It reminded Raven that he had just been touching her, and she already missed his touch.

He walked down one step, forcing her to release her grip on his clothes and putting distance between them. He watched the ground near her feet, studying that one area with a closeted intent that made it clear he could not meet her eyes.

" _You_ stole _my_ heart."

His hands were fidgeting all of a sudden, curling and uncurling with agitation.

"Congratulating you is all I can do, because... What the fuck else am I supposed to say to you? To _you_? I want to be selfish with you. I want to be with you every second of every day, because that's just how much I think of you, even when we're together. You lit a fire in me, and you make me think dangerous things, things that should not cross my mind because of who you are and who I am. Because you're the _princess_. You have been clean and pure from birth, and you have the most precious blood running through your veins, and I... I am me. You are _you_ , and you are perfect... and you are getting _married_. I don't want to be your everything, but I want to be yours. I already am. I just wish that you could be mine in the same way. Even more so. You are... and I am... But I just— Raven, I—"

Raven drew a sharp breath.

It was clear that he heard it, because he started to struggle. Little squeaks of almost-words escaped him before he sighed. " _Can't_. I can't. Raven, I can't. All I can say is, congratulations."

"I—I'd choose you," she blurted as his words echoed in her ears; loud and obnoxious, like him. She was not too sure of what she was saying at the moment. What could anyone say to what he had just said? But she was saying whatever she was saying, and he was going to listen to her say it. "In any version of reality. Whether it was this, or something similar, or something entirely different. I would find you, and I would choose you."

A decidedly pregnant pause passed before he finally raised his head to meet her eyes. The air suddenly became thick and hard for her to breathe. She was now face-to-face with a dewy meadow that had been ravaged by a harsh thunderstorm, right before fog spread across the land. It was the most intimate encounter that she had ever had with anyone, thus far.

"I'd choose you, too," he said.

Their first time together was nothing like Raven had ever imagined, and this was something she thought about many times in the privacy of her bedroom. It was not patient or slow, or even remotely romantic. It was hard and rough and against the front door of his home because they just could not wait any longer once they had arrived. They simply rushed to shed their clothing and he picked her up, allowing her to wrap her legs around him so that he could take her. From then on, it was harsh and hitching breaths intermingling as they kissed. It was the wet and nasty sounds of skin slapping skin while her back rubbed against the smooth, wooden door.

They did not make love, and they did not even have sex.

They fucked.

 _Hard_.

Garfield fucked her in a way that was borderline animalistic, plowing into her with harsh grunts as his fingers dug into the meat of her behind. It was at a pace that had her biting into his shoulder and burying her face into his neck with desperate groans, forcing noises out of her mouth that she was sure neither one of them thought could even come out of her. He stretched her so perfectly, filling her in a way that made sure his name was the only coherent word she could speak. The way that he kissed her lips and chewed on her neck left her hot and bothered, burning for more of him as he took all of her. It all pushed her over the edge, forcing her to throw her head back as her low moan filled the room.

Bliss— _pure bliss_.

Raven felt about as light as a feather as she floated her way back down to earth. What she had just done with him— _her bodyguard_ —could not be erased, and the shamefulness of this act should have been ravaging her and eating her alive. But all she could focus on was how good it felt to have him holding her close as her body jolted against his, while he placed such a soft trail of kisses onto her skin before alternatively taking her nipples into his mouth. He sucked them with such reverence, nibbling on them in a way that made her arch her back and cradle his head to her chest.

This made her feel like a goddess.

Her vision was fuzzy as she combed her fingers through his hair, stuttering gasps escaping her. Her toes were restless, curling and uncurling as the flat of his tongue continued to swirl around the peaks of her breasts. This man had effectively ruined sex for her with just one encounter and erased the memories of every man she had ever met before him from her mind, while thoughts of _him and only him_ filled it. She was sure that after this, he would be the only one to come to mind whenever she thought of intimacy.

A sharp hiss of his name escaped her. He was being almost too attentive and she could not take anymore, so she took his face into her hands and pulled him away from her breasts to kiss him. The way that their lips moved together was nice and slow— _so softly_ —a direct contrast to how hard and rough he had just been with her. This kiss was as sweet as his smiles were, and all she could do was stutter his name into his mouth over and over again because his name was the only thing she could remember at the moment.

"Let me make you sing, birdie," he whispered to her before carrying her to his bedroom.

It was different the second time, patient and more deliberate. These strokes were more controlled and thorough, long and deep and absolutely unhurried strokes that ground into her and had her eyes rolling back as her mouth fell open with helpless gasps. His fingers were everywhere; gently kneading her breasts and rolling her nipples underneath his thumb, caressing her stomach and hips, and smacking her buttocks and thighs with the flat of his palm before squeezing them, urging her to wrap her legs around him tighter—she did, always—before they started their journey all over again. He touched her with a possessiveness that spoke volumes about everything he had been feeling during the past few months, a possessiveness she wished he would have acted on long ago.

Garfield's hair, heavy with sweat, fell in front of his eyes. They were framed beautifully as desire pooled and swirled in their depths— _all for her, and only her_ —and to see that in _this_ man's eyes got her dripping onto the sheets. This pushed a feral grunt out of him.

"Did I get you this wet?" he questioned, his voice gruff and heavy. He kissed her and spoke into her mouth: "Answer me, Raven, am _I_ the one who got you soaking like this?"

Raven could not answer, unable to tell him that this was what happened to her every time they were together. His words had her eyes falling shut as she squirmed and arched her back underneath him, jolting as if she had been struck by lightning. It all had her grabbing for his buttocks in an attempt to pull him in closer, and biting his shoulder out of frustration because there was no way to fuse the two of them into one. It had her licking and kissing and sucking the bruise she had left and pulling strands of hair straight out of his scalp with one hand, while clawing and scratching at his back with the other as she choked his name out.

He took it all in stride and with grace, and the vulgarity of the words he spoke to her faded into soft and gentle ones. These were sweet words, dangerous words, the most assuring and most comforting and most beautiful nothings that felt like everything. He told her how good she felt and how good her skin tasted, and how good and how perfect she was. He spoke these words against her lips and whispered them into her neck, and it all made her realize just who and what this man had become to her.

Now _this_ was lovemaking: tender and deliberate fucking that she felt deep within her chest and core while the headboard of his bed created a beat against the wall. The more he touched her and the more he spoke to her, the harder it was for her to remember the last time she had experienced such desperateness and such fervor for her entire being, for her body and soul. Then she remembered:

Never.

The orgasm that coursed through her body was a sudden one that temporarily blinded her and left her legs so shaky that they could no longer hold onto him as she screamed. It left her trembling as if they were in the dead of winter, even though it was the middle of spring. She was absolutely disconcerted and so dizzy that all she could do was dig her fingers into his hair, hugging him close as he came with a grunt into her neck.

 _Bliss_. Again and again, sweet bliss.

Garfield's breath shook as he placed a kiss into her neck. Then another, followed by another and another. A smile stretched across her face as he kissed his way up her neck and to her jaw, before reaching her lips. He kissed her deeply and thoroughly, gently nibbling and sucking on her lips, taking all of her all over again through her mouth. It felt so good to have his naked body on top of hers, and to have him resting inside of her. This man was entirely hers, even if she could not be his—yet she already was; all his, and _only_ his.

He pulled away from her lips to place a single and lingering kiss onto her forehead, before he slowly pulled out of her with a soft grunt. She could immediately feel the warm mixture of their essences leaking out of her most intimate area; it felt sore and beautifully used. He moved from his position over her body and stood before leaving the room, only to return a few moments later with a small basin and a washcloth.

The emotion in the air was thick, staticky, and charged with electricity as Garfield sat in front of her. He dipped the washcloth into the basin and pulled it out, wringing the water out before he began to clean her. The cloth was warm and almost plush, her stomach squirming each time he dipped it into the water before touching her with it again. Her world instantly transformed into soft and dewy blades of grass on a warm and early summer morning as she watched him do this.

Focus.

Things were in focus now.

They sneaked to his house in silence after their blowup at the palace, hand-in-hand and stopping every so often to kiss. He constantly asked her if she wished to turn around and go back as they walked because they both knew. Both Raven and Garfield knew exactly what they were about to do and they knew how dangerous it could be—how dangerous it _was_. They knew; _she_ knew. But she declined, always, because this was also something that she knew.

And there she was now: lying naked in front of him with her legs wide open as he cleaned her. He could see every single part of her in this very moment, but she did not care. She could not, because _she knew_ —this was him.

"You're very good at this," she finally spoke into the silence.

Garfield met her eyes with a sweet smile. It looked absolutely beautiful on his sweaty face underneath the dim lighting of the single candle that lit his bedroom. "You can stand to get better."

"I was talking about your cleaning skills."

"I know. I wasn't."

Raven tried to fight the smile off, but that glint of mischief in his eyes seemed to have little fingers that pushed the corners of her mouth up. "I expect to receive more practice, then."

"Don't worry," he told her. He grabbed her foot and brought it to his lips, kissing the thin jewelry that decorated her ankle. "You will."

At that, he set her foot onto the bed and resumed cleaning her. When he was finished, he dropped the washcloth into the basin and placed it onto the floor before moving to lay beside her. He propped his elbow onto the pillow and rested his chin in his palm, taking her by the waist to pull her close.

The entirety of Raven's insides churned with delight as he did this. She turned to lay on her side, hooking her leg around his waist to draw him in even closer. She could feel the flaccid meat of his penis pressing against her, and a sudden urge began to eat at her. It begged and pleaded for her to ask if he would be willing to slide himself back inside of her and _just rest_ , so that she could bask in the way he filled her up once again. But she swallowed this urge down; finally being in his arms more than sufficed.

"We'll have to wake up early when morning comes," Garfield spoke quietly. He combed a stray hair away from her face, tucking it behind her ear before playfully tugging the lobe. This made her smile; was this what it was like? Being friends with your lover? Is this what this tenderness was? "I have to get you back before anyone notices you're gone. I wouldn't want you to get in trouble."

The bruise that she left on his shoulder caught her eye and she raised a hand to touch it, grazing it with her finger. She wondered just how bad she looked. "I'm not the one who would get in trouble."

"Which is exactly why we need to get you back before anyone notices."

It was a joke, one that he said with a smile, but it still made her heart hiccup with sadness. Reality was not something that she wished to be reminded of at the moment. She was perfectly content with him holding her so close that she could see a lone drop of sweat forming on his cheek, while he watched her so sweetly and so reverently.

"I don't mind waking up early," she told him.

And Raven cupped his face in her hand to wipe that drop of sweat away with the flat of her thumb.

_four._

The months that followed were primarily made up of Raven sneaking out of the palace in the middle of the night, just to sneak into Garfield's home. She would take his face into her hands and caress his cheeks with the padding of her thumbs, waking him up with sweet kisses all over his face and into his hair. He never opened his eyes when he awoke, but he would make her aware of his consciousness with a low grumble, joking that no amount of biscuits could ever make up for his eventual unemployment if she kept this behavior up. She would simply smile as he took her into his arms, snaking her leg around him and resting her chin on his chest to watch him as they spoke, like a lovesick puppy.

Speaking with him in the comfort of his bedroom was... different. He would hold her close while drawing silly designs into the small of her back, the candle that lit his small bedroom making his skin glow. He would sneak kisses into their conversations, whether they were kisses to her forehead in the middle of a sentence or a random kiss to her lips, followed by a playful nibble that made her chuckle. He would even sneak sex into their conversations. Slow sex, so that they could continue talking and joking and laughing; and sex so passionate and so _good_ that they needed to cut the conversation short and resume afterwards feeling hot, sweaty, and sated.

Being able to speak with him in such a way was so _liberating_. It made her wonder how she could have ever thought that empty staircases and hallways and libraries would be enough, because they had his bedroom now, along with his kitchen, his couch, and even his bathtub. Intimacy soon became a daily longing that Raven could not ignore because of this—intimacy with _Garfield_. From the very moment he entered her body, he instilled within her a need to fuse with him in a way that spoke of more than just physicality. She wanted his mind and his heart and his soul all to herself, just as much as she wanted his body. This was a man she wished to become entirely one with, and for this, she could not get enough of him.

She refused.

This mentality emboldened Raven, swaying her to brave sneaking Garfield into her bedroom one morning. This was after King Richard and his attendants visited the palace to discuss and settle the specifics of their engagement, an arrangement that forced the two lovers to physically part for an entire week. She could not deny how good it was to see her childhood friend again or how pleasant their reunion was, but she missed Garfield's touch, deeply.

Fleeting kisses in the dark corners of the palace was not enough, and neither was the feeling of his fingers grazing hers as they walked past each other. She craved being able to speak and laugh with him, but their physical intimacy was what she missed most of all. _And Raven wanted him inside of her_. She wanted him to stretch her girth, to fill her all the way up, and to rearrange everything deep inside of her.

By the time Richard and his company left at the end of the week, her entire body was buzzing with desire—buzzing for _him_. So, she told as many people as she could about the help she needed to move her bed in order to reach something. They all volunteered Garfield, of course, because they could not be bothered with such a frivolous thing.

 _The bodyguard can handle that_ , they scoffed. _This is his job_.

Garfield took her on the surface of her desk, her legs hooked at his waist while he gently massaged her clitoris. Both the hem and the top of her dress were bunched and bundled at her waist, baring and exposing her breasts for him; he loved her breasts, to touch and to kiss and to suck and to admire. He kissed her to keep her quiet, his lips moving against her just as hard and slow and deep as he was fucking her— _raw_. He took her slow enough to keep the table from squeaking as it rocked and hard enough to have her whimpering quietly into his mouth, her body jolting every so often as they watched each other from behind fluttering and heavy lidded eyes.

"Did you dream of me last night?" he whispered against her lips. "I dreamt of you. Every night, Raven."

It was truly a test to keep herself from crying his name out. She wanted everyone within the palace to know that she was his, and that he was taking her again and again. She wanted everyone to know that he was thoroughly ruining her for her new husband and that she was allowing it, because _this_ man was who she truly wished to marry. This was the man she truly wanted and he knew it, they both did, but all she could do was whisper his name and mutter how good it all felt with a shuddering voice.

Raven bit down on his neck as she came, muffling the sound of her feeble groans and tugging at his clothing to keep herself under control. He took her face into his hand as she panted and her body trembled, kissing her so softly and so sweetly that she could already feel her desire sparking all over again. His fingers trailed away from her face to comb through her hair, pushing the sweaty strands away from her face with a tenderness that made her stomach turn.

Now _this_ was a feeling that she could not quite put a finger on. This was more than just a foreign emotion. It felt like she had been submerged in a lake filled with the strongest wines, yet completely inebriated at the same time. Her brain felt like it was on the verge of insanity, yet she felt perfectly calm. Such conflicting emotions should have scared and worried her, and yet she was absolutely okay—because this was _him_.

"I love you, Garfield," she whispered against his lips.

The words slipped out before she could catch them. His fingers stilled in her hair and their kiss stopped. It hit her then just how real this was, and how real _they_ were. This entire situation was utterly terrifying and undeniably dangerous, especially for him. But she pulled away from his lips and swallowed, her eyes fluttering open to gauge his reaction.

"With all of me."

There was a smile on his face, then. It was small and tender, yet completely serious.

"I love you, Raven. With all of me."

He picked her up, quietly joking that all of the biscuits she had recently added into her diet was making harder for him to do this. All she could do was smile and take his face into her hands, placing sweet kisses all over his forehead while he laid her onto the carpeted floor. He took her with strokes that dared her to scream his name, lazy yet undeniably deliberate strokes that made her toes curl and her eyes roll back.

The very tips of their noses nudged and brushed against each other as they moved, his eyes boring into her own. To have him watching her so intently as she squirmed underneath him made Raven feel like her entire being had been engulfed in flames; like she was the most desired woman on the earth. Then he smiled, right before he began to whisper to her the true depths of his feelings.

"You're the greatest thing that's ever happened to me, and the most important thing that's ever been mine—"

Raven shut her eyes and threw her head back, a quiet and yearning sigh slipping past her lips.

"—you fill my heart with joy and happiness. You give life new meaning with each sunrise—"

"Gar— _field_ —"

"Tell me who made you this wet, Princess. Just whisper the name—"

The beginnings of a heavy moan escaped her before he kissed her hard, effectively silencing her, and she discovered that day just how difficult it was to walk steadily on wobbling legs.

_five._

The soft pitter-patter of rain touched Raven's ears as she wrapped the towel around herself, her shoulders jumping because of the sudden roll of thunder. She looked through the small window of the bathroom—spring showers, and a thick blanket of fog that hid the trees and sky that pulled her lips into a frown. This sudden rain would make sneaking back into the palace a bit troublesome if it continued through to the morning. But fog and rain had never stopped her before. So she brushed this unpleasant thought away with a shrug of her shoulders, grabbing for a smaller towel to envelop her dripping wet hair before opening the door to step out.

Garfield's eyes were the first things she saw. His bedroom was very dimly lit by the single candle sitting beside his bed, the thick wax steadily melting into its metal tray and emitting a pleasant scent that permeated the room. This little bit of light gave his tanned skin an almost ethereal glow as he sat on the edge of his bed and watched her, a little smile touching his lips.

The sight of that smile made Raven swallow and cross her arms before reclining onto the post of the bathroom door. His smile used to make her think of sweet and wholesome things, like butterflies flying away on warm summer days or chasing after fireflies on cool summer evenings. But now, his smiles made her think of terrifying things, things that involved the words: _forever and always_ , and _I love you_.

"It's raining pretty hard outside. They'll have to move me into the palace if you get hurt during one of your little excursions, you know."

"That's the point."

Garfield laughed, his eyes traveling up and down her towel-clad body as fast as lightning before meeting her eyes again. This made her pull her arms closer to herself, while he raised a hand to rub the back of his neck. "We've become rather domesticated, haven't we? Only on one side, unfortunately, but still... I, uh, I have to tell you something."

"What is it?"

"I'll be leaving soon. I won't be gone for too long," he quickly added. "I was told this morning that my division is being deployed to do your father's dirty work in Jump. We're leaving within one week."

Raven frowned. Her brows knitted with confusion, the space in the middle folding a bit. _How strange_. "So, even my strong and powerful and ever important bodyguard is being taken?"

"Taken from you."

"Taken from me."

His smile seemed to stretch and soften, both at the same time, as he stood to approach her. He snaked an arm around her waist and hugged her close, placing a sweet and lingering kiss onto her forehead that made her eyes flutter shut. "Don't worry, birdie. Your father won't kill me off the same way he did your mother."

She pushed him away with an incredulous laugh, only to have him pull her back into his embrace and hug her tightly with a low chuckle. A smile touched her lips as she buried her face into his chest and took his scent in with a long, deep breath. The candle's soft and almost imperceptible smell worked well with his natural scent—freshness mixed with sweetness. She placed a kiss into his neck before gently nibbling, drawing a soft groan from him. "My father had nothing to do with her death, cavalry boy."

"Your father's one ruthless fucker, spoiled brat," he continued, making her laugh again. He played with the little baby hairs that rested on the nape of her neck, gently twirling them into little circles with his fingertips. "I'd be surprised if he _didn't_ have anything to do with it."

"I think that my mother would have liked you. She would have softened my father, especially for you."

"Your father's so mean that he probably killed her off so that he could _stay_ mean."

Raven shook her head with a roll of her eyes, before raising her chin to kiss him. He returned it with an enthusiastic groan, kissing her deeply and thoroughly tasting every crevice of her mouth in a way that made her toes curl and knees buckle. She felt absolutely dizzy as she uncrossed her arms to grab onto the front of his clothing, just like the first time.

It always felt like the first time with him.

Garfield abandoned playing with the little hairs at her neck to completely pull the towel off of her head, allowing it to fall to the floor with a soft _plop_. He grabbed a handful of her damp hair, gently tugging as he undid the towel that hid her body from him. His free hand traveled everywhere it could reach after this: gently caressing her neck, kneading her breast before teasing and pulling the nipple, and massaging her stomach and hip. His hand drifted to the curve of her behind, stroking and groping before finally smacking it hard as he released a harsh and feral grunt into her mouth.

A sharp moan escaped her, her hands releasing their grip on his clothing to bury her fingers into his hair. He hugged her close, turning them around to press her back against the bathroom door with his body. It was clear that he was in the mood to be nasty tonight, and this made her stomach turn with excitement as her entire body _buzzed_ with desire for him. She loved it when he was like this and could already feel herself growing wet.

"I'm leaving in a week," he spoke into her mouth, his voice rough and almost gravelly. He smacked her behind again, forcing her to pull away from his kiss to throw her head back with a sharp swear, right before he began to gently stroke and massage her tender skin. This touch was strangely gentle as he smiled at her, making her eyes flutter underneath the intensity of his gaze with stuttering breaths. "What kind of gentleman would I be if I didn't properly say goodbye?"

"You have an entire week to say goodbye."

"You'll need the time to recover."

"Wha—"

Garfield's grip on her hair hardened and he tugged her head back, forcing a gasp of his name out of her mouth before kissing her.

 _Unadulterated fucking_ , is the only proper description for the sex they have. Deliberate fucking. Erotic fucking. Rough fucking. Breathless and unrelenting movements accompanied by tender words of endearment that sounded out of place yet completely perfect, all at the same time.

Raven was left shaking and gasping, with toes that were unable to uncurl. Her fingers and knuckles hurt from reaching and holding on so tightly in their search for something— _anything_ —to help her ride this wave of intense pleasure without going insane. Her lips were left swollen and numb from his kisses, while her nipples were sucked so raw that they almost hurt to touch. Harsh screams and groans left her throat sore, and her ass stung from his unyieldingly hard smacking and groping; even her scalp stung a bit from his tugging. The marks that he left all over her body were the biggest proof of this encounter, along with the very few that she would be forced to hide with her hair.

The perfect goodbye.

She cried after—sobbed. The kind of laborious sob that made her shoulders heave and contorted her face in an ugly way, though she was not too sure why or why she could not stop. Perhaps it was because he fucked her that good or because the thought of being away from him for a few months, after having him completely to herself for almost half a year, finally sunk in. Maybe she was simply not mentally prepared for such an onslaught of intense pleasure on all five of her senses, but Garfield neither mentioned it nor questioned it. He just held her close as she cried and placed kisses into her hair, comforting her with sweet caresses until she fell asleep.

Raven was entangled with him when she woke up the next morning, in an entire mess of sweaty limbs that made her feel hot and sticky. It was gross and she would have to take another bath, but it was _him_ ; perhaps he would join her this time. Her body felt too heavy for her to carry, along with her eyes as he caressed her cheek and lips with his thumb. This gentleness was a far cry from just the other night, and such a stark difference made her stomach turn with affection.

"How—" Her throat closed up, sore and dry, before she cleared it and swallowed. "How bad do I look?"

His thumb traveled to her eyebrow, gently smoothing it down. "You look thoroughly loved."

A smile touched her lips. It was small and almost shy, which was strange when she considered just how comfortably they had grown with intimacy, both physical and emotional. "I'm sorry about last night—"

Garfield kissed her before she could get another word out, before telling her with the sweetest smile:

"You're okay."

And Raven believed him, smiling back.

The rain had stopped, and the fog had faded.

_six._

On the morning of Garfield's departure, Raven sneaked him three freshly made biscuits instead of the regular two. She told him to keep them hidden for himself and to refrain from sharing with anyone else, because these biscuits had been stolen strictly for his journey, and his alone. He simply took the biscuits from her and put them into his pocket before placing a kiss onto her forehead, telling her that the gods she loved so much had not been gracious enough to bless everyone with the opportunity to grow up as spoiled as she did.

The sense of normalcy that she had before he came into her life returned when he left; things were back to normal. She was back to waking up an hour early just to steal an extra biscuit from the kitchen after breakfast had been served, back to sharing her biscuit with the ducks, and back to frequenting the library—all alone, this time. And it felt strange. Not _it_ , per se, but _she_.

Raven felt strange.

This was not because neither one of them had made an attempt to contact each other two months after his departure. After being so thoroughly involved with a man in an intimacy that spoke of more than just physicality and emotional intrusions, suddenly being apart from this person almost felt wrong. And while she thoroughly missed his touch and _him_ , the reality of their circumstances stood true. This man had been assigned to be her bodyguard, nothing more and nothing less, and any letter or message sent to or from the crown princess was to be thoroughly examined. But she continued to feel strange despite knowing all of this, and she was sure that not even Garfield's presence could alleviate this feeling.

This strangeness that bubbled up in the pit of her stomach was not a good feeling, and it was not a bad feeling; not necessarily. But the sharp uneasiness that sprouted on top of this growing strangeness was not something that she wished to welcome with open arms—not until she made sure that the unsettling thoughts that plagued her served a purpose other than making her nervous. To have such heavy feelings stacking themselves on top of one another made Raven feel tired, and for some reason she was sure that this sudden weariness was not a joke of the mind. And it was on the first day of summer, the beautiful kind of day that Garfield's smile normally reminded her of, when her worst fear was confirmed.

Pregnancy had never been an idea that Raven ever thought to concern herself with, not with Garfield or any other man who had come before him, simply because contraceptives existed to prevent such a thought. The whole point of contraceptives was to not only prevent the thoughts pregnancy, but to also prevent actual pregnancies from occurring. Yet when she considered just how reckless she and Garfield were with one another, she could not honestly say that she was surprised. She could not even be sure of when or where this child had been conceived, because contraceptives, no matter how potent they were, could never make up for how careless she was with him.

Garfield would take her in every position he could whenever the opportunity presented itself. The lips of her vagina would be left puffy while her clitoris would be engorged to the point of acute hypersensitivity, both from his generous mouth and tongue, and all before he would fuck her absolutely raw. The mixture of their essences would be leaking out of her and trailing down her inner thighs whenever he finished inside of her and instead of cleaning her or allowing her to clean herself, he would just take her again and again and again. Her body felt so beautifully used afterwards that all she could do was pass out, too tired to deal with anything that had to do with contraceptives.

It was dangerous.

And it made sense.

A pregnancy made perfect sense, and it would have made even more sense if Raven were not the unmarried and engaged crown princess. This was not something that she could afford. Such a thing was not something that _Garfield_ , the soldier who had been assigned to be her personal bodyguard, could afford. And he was not even with her—what would he even think? Along with marriage, the topic of starting a family of their own had always been one to quickly veer and avoid before switching to a new topic, because the two of them could not afford to even think of such a thing.

Garfield could not afford it.

So Raven kept this secret to herself, choosing instead to wait for his return. The midwife that met with her on the other side of town just last week informed her that the pregnancy was only one month along, meaning that she would not begin to show any time soon. It was such a childish thought but maybe— _hopefully_ —if she did begin to show by the time Garfield returned, her father would simply turn his back on her and banish the two of them from his kingdom; they would finally be free to run away together this way, free to love as loudly and freely as they pleased.

By the time the second month came around, a new rumor began to swirl and spread throughout the palace about how much fatter the princess was slowly growing. Raven simply fessed up about all of the biscuits she had stolen whenever anyone was brave enough to confront her, blaming her gradual weight gain on that and offering to steal her interrogators a biscuit at the same time; the cooks began to give her two biscuits during breakfast, winking while whispering to her that all she needed to do was ask. And late at night, she would stand in front of her mirror naked to study the sudden changes of her body, rubbing her flat belly and cupping her full breasts in an attempt to imagine how she would look by the ninth month.

And on the first day of the third month, the king's army returned.

The excitement that rippled throughout Raven's body had been enough to make her push and shove past the bodies that crowded the estate as the army marched in, followed by their own parade. All of a sudden a pregnancy was neither bad, nor good, but a reason to finally tackle that topic of starting a family of their own, simply because he had returned. To be without her lover for two months while carrying such a heavy secret all by herself; it made her weary, and she could not wait to share this news with him.

But Garfield was nowhere to be found.

Raven could not find his bright eyes within this crowd and she could not find the smile she had been waiting to see shine during an authentic summer day. Where were the butterflies chasing after the sun, and the fireflies admiring the moon? This made her stand still in the middle of the raucous crowd with a hand hovering over her stomach, which had barely begun to curve just last week.

A gentle hand grabbed her by the shoulder, spinning her around and forcing her to come face to face with a maidservant. The young woman was panting and out of breath, bowing at the waist before she properly addressed the princess. "I apologize for grabbing you so suddenly and without your permission, Your Highness, but you seemed to be so lost in thought that you couldn't even hear me calling out to you. What are you doing here? In the middle of such ruckus? Don't you see how dangerous this is?"

Raven suddenly remembered the hand she had placed over her stomach. She curled her hand into a fist and allowed it to rest at her side with a brisk smile, in hopes that nobody had noticed. "Don't worry for me. I just... Garfield, my bodyguard, he is a part of the cavalry division. I simply wished to greet him and welcome him back."

The maidservant watched her carefully, her eyes intently watching the princess' face before she released a sharp sigh. She swallowed and raised a hand to her mouth. "Oh, dear, you really don't— Nobody told— Your Highness... Garfield was lost in the fight. I was told that he fought valiantly, even to the death after the doctors had gotten ahold of him—"

Raven walked past the maidservant to make her way into the palace, ignoring the other woman's desperate calls and apologies.

All of the happiness and excitement that she previously felt immediately dissipated into a vapor, making room for boiling anger to course through her veins as she hurried to her father's office. Her personal bodyguard should have never been deployed in the first place, because he was her personal bodyguard—Garfield had been assigned to protect her, and for her to love. She wanted to viciously berate her father for sending her bodyguard away to be a part of whatever the hell the army had been deployed to do, because her father, the king, had been the one to issue this random deployment into Jump. Yet when she barged through the doors of her father's office and stepped inside to see him, all she could do was cry.

Sadness finally hit her.

Trigon immediately stood from his desk to approach his daughter, taking her onto his arms to console her. He hugged her close as she weeped and sobbed into his clothing, gently smoothing her hair down with the palm of his hand. A somber sigh escaped him. "Be still, my gem. I'd hoped to be the one to share the news of Garfield with you, but alas. I have control over many things, but even I can't control the running mouths of others."

"Why did you send him?" she asked, her voice thick and warbling. "He is my bodyguard, and he should have never gone. He should have been here to protect _me_ , not to protect something in Jump."

Her father released a low chuckle, the rumbling sound of it comforting her agitated nerves. "He was your bodyguard, but he was my soldier first. One of my best, I must add, which is exactly why he had been chosen to be your bodyguard, and exactly why he needed to be sent. It really is a shame. He was a _good_ man with boundless potential, young and hardworking. But I warned you of what would happen if you continued to act like your mother, didn't I?"

Raven's stomach fell— _hard_.

"Trouble. Only trouble."

She immediately pulled herself away from her father's hold, hastily pushing him away as she took a shaky step back. Her heartbeat stuttered, its irregular rhythm charging hard against her chest. "Wh—What did you just say?"

"I suppose that now is as good a time as any to finally tell you—"

"Tell me _what_?!" she spat.

"Ah. There that mouth goes again," Trigon sighed almost leisurely before he began to pace, slow and relaxed. "Have you noticed that you've not heard one bad story about your mother? _You_ , specifically. This is something that I ensured because I did not want you to hate your own mother, simply because _I_ was at odds with her. Your mother wandered with someone shortly before you were conceived, you see, and although she was adamant in the fact that you were mine, when looked at you and I saw just how pure you were... I just knew that your mother would not be the right company for you, the crown princess. Though it does seem that you have inherited her... wandering spirit."

" _How dare you_ —?!"

His pacing came to a sudden halt and he looked to her, making her fall silent. "I planned to have Garfield killed once I discovered the severity of your relationship with him, and had him placed at the front lines. The commanding officer is one with a heart of gold, which made it all exceedingly difficult. It didn't matter that this mission I'd deployed the army for was one that I had set up, but with his constant reminders of how Garfield had been trained strictly for the cavalry division and not the front lines, I almost pulled back. _Almost_. But when the talk of biscuits and how fat they'd gotten you reached me, I knew that I had made the right decision. But if I had known that this _boy_ was the reason behind your reluctance to marry, I would have killed him with my bare hands."

Raven was suddenly unable to speak or move as she watched this stranger before her, her eyes wide and jaw trembling. She had heard plenty of stories and rumors about this terrifying side to her father, and had defended him against such stories every time, but to experience such terror for herself—she was in shock. _This was her father_. He had been the one to take her under his wing after her mother died from birth complications instead of giving her over to be raised by nannies; the greatest man she had ever known.

Her hero.

"I hate you," she uttered through gritted teeth.

Trigon seemed completely unbothered. He walked past her to make his way out of the office, as she remained rooted where she stood. "Don't worry. Your intended, Richard? He is a good man. Better than me. Be glad."

All of a sudden, Raven's stomach was in pain. A sharp and taxing pain. It forced a ragged gasp out of her as she fell to her hands and knees, thick liquid leaking out of her and onto her inner thighs before touching the floor. She suddenly remembered all of Garfield's conspiracy theories regarding the death of her mother. If she had been intentionally fed lies about her mother and her death, perhaps all of Garfield's jokes had been thinly veiled attempts to tell her the truth—at best.

"What happened to my mother?" she managed before Trigon could get too far. She would not be able to run after him, not in this condition. There was blood leaking out of her. Thick and dark blood. Her baby was leaving her, and she could feel it. She could feel her baby leaving her. _Their_ _baby_. Their baby was leaving–

"What did you— _Tell me_ what you did to her!"

"Everything that I have done was for your benefit."

"It hurts," she whimpered. A stuttering gasp slipped past her lips, followed by a choked cry. "I hate you so much. It hurts. I hate you—"

"I'll send a handmaiden to take care of you, my gem."

Stunned tears fell from Raven's eyes as she watched the blood stain her dress. The baby was gone. She felt it leave her. She had not even gotten one chance to say, _hello_. And with that, she instantly grew numb. There were little tremors and aftershocks of pain pinching her body at random, but the shock completely numbed her to it all, and into silence.

The maidservant's sharp gasp touched her ear, right before she helped her up to lead her to a bath.

Raven was completely silent and unresponsive when she was faced with the bathtub full of water, almost catatonic. But when she finally entered the hot water and the steam thickened before her eyes, a heavy sob was forced out of her mouth. Sobs of trauma and of distress that made her entire body shake as she sat in the scalding water— _pain_.

The maidservant's soothing words sounded like a faint whisper in her ears. If Garfield were there, he would not have said one single word. He would have simply taken her into his arms and held her close while spilling kisses into her hair, just as he had done before. But he could not, and they could not, because Trigon had killed him.

Garfield was gone.

And it was Raven's fault.

The cries stopped, as did the tears.

"Garfield is gone."

The maidservant nodded before somberly agreeing, "Yes, Princess, he is—"

"And so is our baby."

The maidservant grew silent, although her hesitation was quite clear as she watched the princess. "Y—Yes, Princess. And I am truly sorry—"

"I'm leaving."

"Pr— _Princess_?"

"Get me a horse."

"Princess, you aren't well. Please, speak with your father—"

Raven finally looked at the other woman, only to find that this was not the same maidservant she had spoken with earlier. This new woman looked old enough to be her mother, and old enough to have been around long enough to know the truth about her mother and the lies that Trigon had fed her throughout the years. The princess wondered if this particular maidservant's composure during such a distressing moment had been practiced before during a similar occasion, and such a thought disgusted her.

Raven no longer wanted to have anything to do with this woman or this palace.

"Trigon, your king, no longer holds any authority over me. Go and get me my horse. _Now_."

The maidservant visibly hesitated before relenting with a bow. "Yes, Princess."

* * *

_— Present Day —_

"Don't punish Alfred."

Raven did not need to turn around to know that her husband was approaching. While his footsteps were naturally light and impossible to perceive, especially when he walked on grass, the fact remained that this man was very insightful when it came to her. The sun still had yet to rise, but she could hear the birds chirping to welcome the new day. This made her wonder what had taken him so long to come after her.

"I told him—" A long and ragged yawn pushed itself through her lips. Opening her mouth to speak for the first time in hours seemed to remind her body of how tired it was, the effects of staying up so late for so long finally hitting her. She raised a hand to rub her eyes. "I told him that I wanted to be alone."

"I can't punish Alfred," Richard scoffed. "He changed my diapers. Alfred has seen my baby butt."

An easy laugh slipped past her lips as she unfolded her legs. She flattened her bare feet onto the grass before pulling her legs to her chest, wrapping her arms around them to rest her chin on her knees. The sun's rays were finally beginning to just peak over the horizon and seeing that pushed another yawn out of her. "He really is going bald, you know. That bald spot is spreading."

It was his turn to laugh. The sound of her husband's laughter was deep and rich, like an all encompassing darkness that was both sensual and completely wholesome— _dark chocolate_ ; hearing it made her toes curl and gather up a few blades of grass. It made her want to make love to him and feed him all of his favorite foods, both while telling him silly jokes and riddles just to have him continue laughing, all at the same time and under the same breath.

"The old man's been around long enough to raise my father," Richard said once his laughter stopped, although his voice did happen to sound a bit airy as little chuckles escaped. "He works hard and puts so much of himself into everything he does. I'd be more surprised if he had a full head of hair."

A smile touched her lips as a comfortable silence filled the air. The sun continued to rise, pushing the cool air of the night away as the warmth of the new day was cast upon them. This forced Raven to rest her forehead onto her knees, shutting her eyes as she shielded her face from the sun's brightening glare.

"The morning has come. Are you ready to speak now?"

"You said that you wouldn't remember by the time morning came."

"I _doubted_ that I would remember by the time morning came."

Her smile grew melancholic, yet she was completely comfortable. She was almost at ease despite the inkling of sadness that her reminiscing plopped into her heart, due to the mere presence of her husband. This man happened to be her very best friend, lover, and confidante, all in one; and she, him. This topic was one that made the beginning of their marriage difficult, forcing them to ignore it and push it to the very back of their minds for a while—two years—until now. But finally coming to terms with it, with him, was not as awkward as it should have been.

Still, she hesitated.

But she was tired, and wished to be free.

"I'm not sure how to begin. Would you mind starting for me?"

Richard released a contemplative hum. She imagined that he was delicately scratching his chin with the nail of his very first finger, in the same way that he always did whenever she was faced with a wall and asked him this question. In contrast, she would simply begin to spout facts and observations whenever he asked her the same; moments that were completely free from any awkwardness.

"You say his name in your sleep," he finally said. This did not surprise her and it seemed like he knew it, so he continued. "It comes out sound like, _harfull_ , whenever you've got your face stuffed into your pillow. But it's Garfield—"

Raven's shoulders tensed.

"—right? I'm not angry. I figured there had been at least one before me. There were quite a few before you. Besides, you were pretty fat when you first arrived to the estate—"

"I was not fat, Richard," she finally spoke up. "I was—"

"Pregnant. I know."

She hesitated, visibly and audibly, curling her hands into little fists as she struggled to answer. She opened her mouth to tell him that what he said was not the truth, that she was going to say something else, but she stopped herself. Lying to him would do more damage than good, which was why she never did it.

"How did you— I mean, who told— No— You knew—"

"Raven, it's okay—"

"No. This is— This is happening, and we're talking about this. So, _no_. I was not pregnant. I mean, I was, but not then. I had a mis—" Her throat closed up. Was she still unable to say it? Even if it was not Richard's, it was still _his_ and _hers_ and _theirs_ , and it was gone. And it still hurt. So, she took a deep breath and relaxed her hands. "I lost it. It was gone by then. So when I reached your estate, I was... pleasantly plump."

The faint chuckle that slipped past his lips was like a warm hug that made her lean back, into the direction of his voice. "I'm the eldest of six children, so I had an idea. I'm sorry that you lost your baby."

"Don't apologize." She opened her eyes to face the darkness that her sheltering knees provided. "It wasn't your fault."

"I wouldn't mind it if you were fat, you know. At all."

"I am not gaining weight to feed into your sick fetish, Richard."

"I'm not asking you to gain weight for a fetish, Raven," he argued. "I'm simply saying that I wouldn't mind it if you were fat. Fat like that."

This made Raven raise her head to look at him. He stood directly behind her, watching her closely in an attempt to gauge a reaction to his thinly veiled confession. Looking up at him from such a harshly acute angle reminded her of their size difference and made her wish that he would just take her into his arms right then and there, even though she knew that now was not the right time. But just the thought and his handsome face made her heart feel a bit lighter.

"You want a baby."

Once those words left her mouth, images of a tiny him or a tiny her or a tiny combination of them both, fat and chunky with puffy cheeks either way, filled her mind. This explained how much more thorough he had become in bed; no breaks, just pleasure.

"I wouldn't mind one."

A smile touched her lips. "Even though I say another man's name in my sleep?"

Richard looked around, playfully putting his fists up and jabbing at the air. "Who is the fucker, anyway? A forbidden lover? Don't tell me he's a part of the kitchen staff. Is he here, listening? I'll fight him right now."

Raven's smile grew sad and forlorn, despite her best efforts to fight it off. This forced her to look away from him. "He's gone. He was my bodyguard. He... My father had him killed when he found out about us."

"I... I remember him."

A pause.

"I'm so sorry."

There was a bit of anger laced into her husband's shock. It made her want to assure him that Garfield's murder had nothing to do with him, but that would be a boldfaced lie. Despite Richard not being directly involved, he was still involved, and it only served to feed into her guilt—because no matter who was or was not involved, it was still all _her_ fault.

"Please stop apologizing, Richard," she quietly begged him.

Richard finally sat beside her. He took her into his arms to place her onto his lap, and she perfectly fit and molded into him and his form. The sweet kisses that he began to spill into her hair should have reminded her of Garfield after the night she had, and this discussion, but it did not. And it never did. These two men were completely different and their own, yet both entirely the same in the fact that they both had her heart.

"We don't want to give the cleaners more laundry," he spoke into her hair. "Do we?"

Raven's eyes stung with tears that she repeatedly blinked away. If the angel of death took her and forced her to choose between these two men, right then and there, she would simply go insane and give herself over for the lives of both. She would choose them both, if that were an option. But she could not and should not have even thought of such a thing, and such a thought only reminded her that she was the same spoiled brat she had always been.

She clapped her hands over her face with an angry groan, before a choked and quiet cry escaped her. "I never got to say goodbye."

He hugged her closer. "So, lets go say goodbye."

"You only want me to have your baby."

"I want you to be okay."

He carried her to bed after this and Raven fell asleep in his arms, both confident that she would never utter another name as she slept again. They took a bath together when she woke up, and she made love to him in that tub, riding him as he sat back and watched her. The water sloshed all around them and fell to the floor but she could not find it in herself to care, because her husband was someone she did not deserve to love and to have love her back so thoroughly. So she told him the depths of her feelings for him as she did this— _for him and only him_ —declaring it proudly and speaking so loudly that anyone who walked past their bedroom door would be able to hear, because this was a love that she could express aloud and have everyone know about. There was no need to hide this love, a love she had taken for granted for far too long and did not deserve.

Raven took her husband's face into her hands and kissed him as deeply and as lovingly as she was riding him. She swallowed his low, guttural groans with joy before speaking into his mouth, " _You_ are the greatest thing that has ever happened to me, Richard, and the most important thing that has ever been mine."

Richard dug his fingers into the meat of her behind, pulling away from her lips to place a hot trail of kisses along the length of her neck. The open-mouthed kisses, innocent pecks, and sweet nibbles that he left made her hiss and throw her head back, before he hugged her close and took a nipple into his mouth. He sucked and twirled his tongue all around it with earnest, in a way that suggested they would be absolutely raw and sensitive when they were done.

"You— You—" A hitching breath interrupted her, forcing her to cradle his head to her chest and grip onto his hair with a weak moan. Her rolling eyes fluttered shut. "I love _you_ , Richard, with— with all of me. _You_ fill my heart with joy and happiness. _You_ give life new meaning with each sunrise. _You_ feel like home. _You_ are my refuge..."

The journey to Garfield's gravesite the next day was quiet, a moment of contemplative silence which Richard urged her to use in order to collect her nerves and thoughts because she had arranged to have Garfield's body buried in an empty space at the burial ground of her old home. This empty space had previously been intended for her in case of an emergency. So despite her renouncing all ties with this palace and everyone and everything in it, this specific burial space belonged to her, therefore, Trigon and his attendants were forbidden to touch this space or move anything inside of it.

But when their carriage pulled up to the front of her old home, Raven felt absolutely nothing. She felt nothing when she was welcomed with bright smiles at the front door, and nothing more as she walked through the halls for the first time in two years. _Nothing_ , because she had not come to indulge in any pleasantries. So she did not respond to any of the attendants when they offered to bring her something to eat or drink, and she blatantly ignored their excited suggestions to alert Trigon of her presence, choosing instead to continue chasing after her destination.

While her husband politely answered all questions and denied all offers for her, she tightly held his hand in hers as she led them to the cemetery. But when they approached the gated entrance to the burial ground, her husband released her hand.

"This is something you need to do alone," he told her.

And now Raven stood in front of Garfield's grave.

Alone.

Standing there by herself made chills run down her spine and goosebumps sprout all over her arms. This was not because she stood in the presence of dead bodies, but because it felt like Garfield was standing there with her. It felt like he had been awake for the entire two years, pacing and waiting for her to return and say something to him.

Raven kicked her shoes off to sit beside the headstone, crossing her legs. It felt like tears should have been pouring out of her eyes, profusely, but all she felt was a tremendous amount of emotions pushing down on her from above. The pressure felt good, she could not deny, and her eyes were completely dry—was he stopping them?

"I'm sorry for taking so long."

 _I would have haunted you if you made me wait another year_ , she heard him joke.

Was that his voice? Did she really just hear him? Or was that in her head?

Either way, it made her smile.

And she finally rested her head on the headstone to weep.

Raven apologized again and again for her lateness, begging and pleading for him to forgive her. She told him of how much she missed him and how many times she cursed waking up, because her dreams were the only place she could see his face and hear his voice. She told him of the baby she lost, their baby, and how she wished he could have at least had the chance to touch her stomach. She told him of how she prayed and prayed to the gods he mocked to grant her healing and deliverance and peace, but to no avail. She told him that he had been right from the very beginning about everything, about the death of her mother, what a monster her father was, and how they should not have been together. Finally, she told him about her husband and about how good he was to her, and how absolutely ungrateful and undeserving she was.

She was a blubbering mess, and half of it did not even make any sense. But a beautiful warmth shrouded her as she sobbed these messy words out, like a thick cloak or a pair of comforting arms; his arms, or even the arms of her mother. It felt like somebody was right there, listening intently.

Perhaps she did hear his voice. Maybe.

"I've been afraid to say goodbye because saying goodbye means that I'm closing a chapter. I wasn't ready to close your chapter. Our chapter. But I have to, because I have a new chapter with someone else. My husband. Don't worry, he's a good man. A very, very good man."

_Oh? Better than me?_

"I wouldn't say that he's better than you," she told him with a quiet chuckle. "I wouldn't say that you're better than him, either. He's very good to me, just like you were, but different. Much different."

_Does he make you happy?_

"And he makes me very happy. I don't... I don't deserve him." A lump lodged in her throat and she swallowed hard. "He has completely given himself to me, but I can't give myself to him in the same way if I don't let you go. And— And he knows this, but he still _loves_ _me so_ — And he wants a baby, and I want to give this to him and to myself— I love _him_ — I _love_ him— I don't deserve—"

_You're the only one holding on, birdie. I'm literally dead._

Raven laughed. The laughter gradually faded into a quiet sob. This was not a sob of mourning or sadness, but one that spoke of release and truly saying goodbye. It spoke of freedom, something that she truly felt at the moment; fresh and new. By the time her sobbing ceased, she realized that Garfield would not have wanted her to latch onto him anyway.

So she placed the flower that she held in front of the headstone: a white water lily.

"Goodbye, Garfield."

Just like that, the warmth was gone.

He was asleep.

And she found peace.

Raven remained there with her head resting on the headstone for just a moment longer before sitting up, wiping her face, and standing to leave the burial ground— _she needed to find her husband_. The help of a guard or attendant was not necessary, for she knew him just as well as he knew her. Her heart fluttered at the mere sight of him when she found him standing in an empty hallway, admiring an old statue while rubbing his knuckles on his chest. It felt like a warm pair of hands were resting on either sides of her hips, pushing her toward her husband as she approached him, before moving to lift her arms as she took his face into her hands and kissed him.

Richard smiled against her lips, snaking his arm around her to hold her close. "Hey. How are you feeling?"

"Better," she told him as the hands disappeared; help was no longer needed. She kissed him again. "Lighter and cleaner and freer. You?"

"I punched your father in the face, so I feel very good. But the elders and a few attendants are begging me to apologize. I don't feel that I should, but I will if you want me to."

"Don't. He doesn't deserve your kindness."

"Do you want a go at him? I'll take you where he is, knock a few attendants out, and hold his arms back for you. You'll be able to get a few good hits in before any guards show up."

A smile pulled at her lips. Her heart and her entire being felt open, free and able to accept all of him with all of her; and _she_ felt free and able to give him all of her—completely. It felt beautiful to be this way with this man, her husband and her refuge. She took his hand, urging him to follow her as she led him down the hallway.

"Come. I want you to meet my mother. She's much more pleasant than my father."

Richard brought her hand to his lips and kissed a knuckle, three times.

Raven loved that just as much as he did.

* * *

_one._

The decision to leave the palace after her bath had been a rash one, something that Raven was not too proud to admit. It was a direct result of years and years of dark secrets which had ultimately culminated into the events of one day, and this one day had been more than enough for her. While many of the guards and attendants attempted to change her mind through calculated kindness, the elders plainly told her that the only way she would find peace and reconciliation with her father would be through prayer. She immediately cursed and denounced them into silence, shaming them all for expecting forgiveness to immediately be on her heart after having every good part of her broken within an interval of a few hours.

She simply needed to breathe.

Raven left on horseback with a small satchel filled with her most important belongings, traveling all afternoon and well into the night with a thick cloak over her shoulders. The journey was slow and steady, as her body still ached and throbbed so badly that she was forced to hang her legs over the same side. This was a constant reminder that she probably should have waited until the morning to leave, or at least a week. She should have taken the time to rest and gather strength, allowing her body to heal properly. But she would not turn back to the devil's lair, neither would she look back with her eyes; she would travel as slowly as she needed.

It was late at night when she finally arrived to her destination, the stars shining brightly over the estate of her old friend. Her last visit was for the funeral of Richard's father, the first time she had seen her friend cry since he was six years old and upset about losing a game of tag to her. Despite the funeral being her most recent memory of this place, the air here immediately felt lighter and cleaner as she pulled up; easier to breathe.

Pure.

A guard shouted to his peers, alerting them of her presence before he sprinted into the estate. About a minute and a half passed before Richard stepped out, accompanied by a man who was much older than him—Alfred, she believed. Her old friend approached her wearing a pair of silky pajamas and slippers on his feet, a crease that could only come from a folded pillow on his cheek.

The sight of him almost made Raven snort. She could not even remember the last time she saw the young king looking so messy; that was probably when he was six, too. But she swallowed the laughter down to properly address him when he finally reached her, nodding.

"Hi."

"Hello," Richard greeted her, his voice groggy and thick with sleep. There was a smile on his face, not the sweet sort of smile that she had become accustomed to within the past few months, but a smile that radiated potent power. "This isn't how or _when_ I expected you to arrive, you know."

A little smile pulled at her lips. His humor was greatly appreciated and she was sure that he could tell, along with how necessary it was at the moment. She looked to Alfred and to the few spectators before regarding her friend. "I know. I'm sorry. I should have sent word before, but I couldn't wait—"

"There's no need for any explanation, Raven. You've been here plenty of times before, and I don't mind a surprise visit. Even if it is in the middle of the night," he finished with a low chuckle.

Raven's stomach turned, because such kindness was not what she had been expecting, even from him. This was her oldest friend, but to have someone extend such understanding toward her after the demoralizing day she had just experienced was a bit unnerving. It made her take a breath in as her smile grew, allowing him to take her by the waist and help her off of the horse. She watched as he directed a guard to take the horse into the stable, before looking to him.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome."

"I didn't come with much," she began while grabbing for the satchel on her shoulder. "So you won't have to worry about moving me in."

Richard smiled such a handsome smile then, waving that off with a flourish of his hand. "Do your feet hurt? From your long journey, I mean. The estate is quite large and I wouldn't like it if you were uncomfortable on your way to your room."

Raven's body suddenly resumed its aching. She almost nodded before looking to his tired eyes, remembering that she had shown up in the middle of the night. She fisted her hands, resisting the urge to place one over her stomach while shaking her head. "I sat the whole time. I'm sure that I'll be fine."

He thought for a moment, watching her carefully before he looked to Alfred. "Have someone bring one of the smaller carriages out."

"Very well," Alfred agreed before bowing and leaving to follow orders.

Raven hesitated, shaking her head. "Call him back, Richard, you don't have to—"

"I'm worried about my own feet," he interrupted, looking to her with eyes that twinkled with mirth. He shrugged. "My entire body, including my feet, are tired after a certain somebody woke me up."

A guard approached them with the horse and carriage in tow.

"You can join me if you'd like or just walk beside the carriage," Richard continued while leading her to it and helping her into her seat. "Your choice."

"It doesn't feel like much of a choice."

He simply laughed. "The grand garden is right around the corner. I've got a feeling that you'll love it; it helps you breathe. We can stay there until you get tired."

She hesitated again, both visibly and audibly this time. "You... You're being too kind. I don't want to keep you up."

A little frown touched his lips. "Come on, Rae, we're friends. We're supposed to take care of each other when one of us is down, and you look pretty down. Now, are you going to tell me who I need to beat up? Or am I going to have to pry it out of you?"

Raven chuckled lowly, the sound slipping past her lips. She played with her fingers on her lap, pointedly avoiding his eyes as they watched her closely. She swallowed. "It's a long story, and I don't know how to start. But I can't go back."

"Luckily for you, I've got plenty of room."

She met his eyes.

He smiled and climbed into the carriage, sitting beside her.

"Besides," he began with a scoff. "Nobody's keeping me up. Not even you. I said that we can stay at the grand garden until you get tired. I said nothing about staying _up_ until you get tired—"

Raven's snort finally escaped.

"I've got no qualms about sleeping on the grass—"

"It's nice to see that some things haven't changed."

"—just wake me up when you're done moping and ready to go to sleep."

" _Richard_!" she gasped, while a loud and incredulous laugh escaped her. It felt _good_ to laugh, so good that she actually began to cry. The sound was weak and quiet, but it was powerful enough to make her head droop and shoulders rock. She was embarrassed until her friend placed an arm around her shoulders and hugged her close.

"Ah, how rude of me," Richard quietly spoke as she cried into his chest. He rubbed his hand up and down her arm, stopping every now and then to grip her arm and shoulder. "We were so startled by your arrival that we forgot to offer you anything. I know it's late, but you must be craving something after your journey."

"Biscuits would be nice."

"Biscuits it is."

Richard gave the order for the biscuits to be made, and the two friends made their way to the grand garden.


End file.
